The Bride In Blue

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Copyright

“I’m a fool, a silly little fool!”

His face softened at her distress. “No, not a silly fool. A sweet, trusting soul who needs a crash course in life if she’s to survive in this world. You lived a fantasy life with Godfrey, Sophia. It wasn’t real. My brother always ran away from life and, for a while, so did you. Maybe it’s time you joined the real world…saw what real men are like!”

“What…what do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated and briefly pursued a classical music career before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three grown-up daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include reading meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Miranda Lee is the author of Hearts of Fire.

The Bride In Blue

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘IT’S time, Sophia.’

A shudder rippled down Sophia’s spine at the sound of the quietly spoken words. Taking a deep steadying breath, she turned from where she’d been standing at the bedroom window, staring blindly out at the lengthening shadows.

She tried not to look as wretched as she felt. After all, a bride was supposed to be happy on her wedding-day. But it was impossible to smile, or feel anything other than depressed.

The man who was about to become her husband filled the open doorway, looking impressive in a beautifully tailored grey three-piece suit. Sophia had always thought him a strikingly handsome man, with his strongly sculptured face, jet-black hair and compelling blue eyes. But it was a cold, forbidding kind of beauty, and she had never warmed to it. She shivered when his dark brows drew together, narrowed eyes sweeping over her.

‘You’re not wearing white,’ he said brusquely.

Gulping, she glanced down at the pale blue suit she herself had chosen, mostly because the softly pleated skirt and thigh-length jacket disguised her rapidly changing figure. It had a matching hat—a small soft thing with a blue flower on one side and a wispy veil that came down over her forehead.

When Wilma had tried to steer her towards something white, she’d been firm in her refusal. White would have been hypocritical. Not because she thought herself impure, but because her wedding was not a romantic wedding. It was simply the fulfilling of a deathbed promise.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’

Her succinct answer was not inspired by defiance but by fear. Jonathon Parnell frightened the life out of her.

Sophia had never met a man as intimidating as Godfrey’s younger brother. Not even Joe, her bullying stepfather, had produced the sorts of reactions in her this man could produce. She fairly quailed in Jonathon’s presence, becoming tongue-tied or simply stupid. Sometimes she even stammered, which was why she tried to answer him in monosyllables.

‘You were entitled to wear white,’ he growled. ‘Any wrongdoing lay entirely with my brother.’

Her dark brown eyes flung wide at this unjust misreading of what Godfrey had supposedly done. Perhaps he should have told her he was married, but there had been no heartless seduction, no taking advantage of her tender age, or forcing her against her will. She’d gone to his bed willingly and would have done it more than that one time, if she’d had the chance.

But of course, she hadn’t had the chance. Godfrey had collapsed the following day and within a few short weeks, he was gone. She would never see him again. He would never see his baby…

Tears filled her eyes.

‘Come now, don’t cry,’ Jonathon ordered curtly, drawing a snow-white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket as he strode across the room. ‘What’s done is done. Don’t go messing up those lovely eyes of yours.’

This most uncharacteristic compliment flustered Sophia, as did the feel of Jonathon’s large hands pressing the handkerchief into her tremulous fingers.

That was another of the things about him that she found intimidating. His size. He was a very big man. Not only tall, but powerfully built with broad shoulders, a massive chest and long muscular legs.

Godfrey had been much shorter and of a slight build, with elegant, almost feminine hands. He hadn’t towered over Sophia’s five-foot-two frame as his brother did; hadn’t made her feel like a child by comparison. Jonathon could pick her up and snap her in two, if he wanted to.

‘Th-thanks,’ she said, her voice and hands both shaking as she dabbed at her eyes.

‘Why do you always act as though you’re scared to death of me?’ Jonathon growled.

There was something other than exasperation in his voice that made her glance up at him through her soggy lashes. But the hard blue eyes that looked back at her were as remote and unreadable as ever.

‘I…I d-don’t mean to,’ she whispered, but her husky stammering belied her words.

A guilty remorse curled her stomach. The man deserved better than her irrational and no doubt irritating nervousness whenever he came within three feet of her. His treatment of her since Godfrey’s death had been impeccable. He’d brought her to live in his own home, provided her with every material thing she could possibly want, even had his own secretary befriend her so that she wouldn’t be lonely for female companionship.

And now…now he was about to give her what no other person could. The name of Parnell for her baby. Her beloved Godfrey’s name.

The least she could do was show gratitude, not fear. After all, he wasn’t expecting anything from her in return. The marriage would be in name only, to be quietly terminated at some future date.

‘Smile, then,’ he commanded.

The smile she dragged up proved acting was not her forte. When Jonathon sighed, Sophia’s smile faded, her wretchedness returning. Only by a supreme effort of will did she keep the tears at bay.

His hand on her arm was as firm as his voice. ‘Come along. People are waiting.’

Instant alarm had her resisting his pull. ‘People? But I thought…I mean…’

Jonathon’s face carried frustration. ‘For pity’s sake, don’t get me wrong. People does not mean a crowd. There’s only Mother, Harvey, Wilma, Maud and the celebrant. OK?’ he asked with exaggerated patience.

Her eyes told him that things were far from OK, but she nodded her compliance.

‘Shall we go, then?’

‘I suppose so,’ she replied resignedly, the first smoothly delivered answer she had ever given him. Odd that it seemed to irk him as much as her usual gibberish.

Sophia realised at that moment that Godfrey’s brother found everything about her a trial of the first order, not just her lack of confidence and sophistication. He’d done his best to hide his frustration with her and the unenviable position his vow to his brother had put him in, but she could see now that the coolly aloof manner he adopted with her hid a very real annoyance.

The thought upset her, so much so that as Jonathon was leading her down the wide sweeping staircase, she felt impelled to say something.

‘Jonathon,’ she began, doing her very best not to stammer or bumble her way over his name.

Unfortunately, he stopped walking and looked over at her, the last thing she wanted. That cold blue gaze was as unnerving as the rest of him. ‘What?’

Sophia licked dry lips before launching forth. ‘I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you’re doing today. I…I also wanted to reassure you that I’ll set you free of me as soon as possible.’

There! She’d managed to say it all with only the one little slip-up. She even managed a small smile.

Not, however, with any good effect. That wintry gaze grew frostier, if anything.

Dismay washed through her as her earlier conclusion about Jonathon’s feelings was confirmed. Nothing she could say or do would ever really please him. As soon as possible was not soon enough.

‘I think, Sophia,’ he returned coolly, ‘that Godfrey had a more permanent arrangement in mind when he made me promise to marry you. He wanted his child not only to carry the name of Parnell, but to be brought up a Parnell with all the advantages that would give him or her. Of course, I appreciate that you might wish to be free to find another man like Godfrey to share your life with, which is why I originally suggested a divorce after your baby is born. But please do not feel any pressure to set me free of this marriage.’

‘But I can’t stay married to you,’ she protested. ‘Not…not forever!’

His shoulders lifted and fell in a nonchalant shrug. ‘I am not suggesting you do. I am, however, telling you that there’s no hurry on my part to get another divorce. You’ve lived here for several weeks without disturbing my equilibrium. In fact, you seem to have fitted into the household exceptionally well. Both Mother and Maud have grown quite fond of you. Since I have no intention of ever marrying again, feel free to embrace the sanctuary of being married to me for as long as you like.’

His mouth pulled back into a sardonic smile. ‘If you are concerned for my sex life, then don’t give it a second thought. I have never had any trouble finding women to keep me well satisfied in that regard and see no reason why I shall in future. Naturally, I will be discreet. And I expect you to be the same,’ he finished on a sharper note.

She stared at him, her eyes rounding. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Did he honestly think that at four months pregnant she would go looking for…for…?

A fierce blush invaded her cheeks. ‘I don’t think you’ll have to worry about me on that score,’ she flung at him, outrage making her words flow. ‘I loved Godfrey, and I will love him to my dying day. There will be no other man for me. Not ever!’

The corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical fashion. ‘A nobly romantic sentiment, I’m sure, but not a very realistic one. You’re only nineteen, Sophia. A young woman not yet in her sexual prime. Some day, there’ll be another man for you.’

‘Maybe so,’ she said heatedly, ‘but certainly not in the next five months. I don’t know how you could suggest such a disgusting thing. I’m carrying Godfrey’s child!’

Their eyes clashed and for a split-second Sophia could have sworn she glimpsed something dark and dangerous swirl within those icy blue depths.

‘Is there anything wrong, Jonathon?’ came a shaky query from below.

Both of their heads snapped around and down.

Ivy Parnell stood at the bottom of the staircase, a frail, white-haired figure dressed in a grey chiffon dress that had a draining effect on her equally grey face. She was looking up at them with a worried expression in her faded blue eyes.

‘Not at all, Mother,’ Jonathon returned smoothly. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’

‘You sounded as if you were arguing,’ came her plaintive remark when they joined her on the Persian rug that covered the black and white tiled foyer.

‘Sophia was under the misconception that I might want a divorce as soon as her baby is born,’ Jonathon explained. ‘I was reassuring her that wasn’t the case.’

Ivy turned alarmed eyes towards Sophia. ‘Dear child, you shouldn’t be worrying about such things at this moment. Why, even when you and Jonathon do eventually get divorced, you’re going to stay here with us and we’re going to look after you and your baby just as poor Godfrey wanted. We all love you already, don’t we, Jonathon? You’re the daughter I never had, the sister Jonathon never had. Tell her she must stay.’

Though touched by Ivy’s warmth and kindness, Sophia only needed a quick glance Jonathon’s way to see he didn’t concur with his mother’s sentiments. There was no affection for her in his staunchly held face, not even a brotherly one. She was a burden he had to endure, a cross he had to bear. All she could hope was that time would soften his hard heart towards her. Maybe when his niece or nephew was born, his attitude might change. Babies had a way of winding themselves around even the hardest of hearts.

And she did want Jonathon to warm to her. He was the brother of the man she’d loved so very deeply. She wanted her baby’s uncle to like her at least. It hurt her that he didn’t seem to, especially when she didn’t know why exactly.

To be honest, she didn’t like him much either. He made her so uncomfortable. Maybe she made him just as uncomfortable. One didn’t always need a reason to dislike someone. It could be an instinctive reaction.

Come to think of it, Jonathon had been cold to her from the very first moment they’d met, in Godfrey’s hospital room. At the time she’d thought he was embarrassed, because he’d walked in on them embracing, but, looking back, she believed there had been an instant antagonism on his part.

‘I’ve already told Sophia she was welcome to stay,’ Jonathon informed his mother somewhat impatiently. ‘And that there’s no hurry for a divorce. What there is some hurry for, however, is the marriage itself. The celebrant told me he has another appointment at six, so let’s go in.’

The celebrant looked relieved as the three of them entered the formal sitting-room where the ceremony was to take place. So did the others.

Wilma shot Jonathon a reproachful glare, which brought a tiny smile to Sophia’s lips. Wilma did not fit the stereotyped image of a tycoon’s private secretary. She wasn’t at all beautiful or glamorous or gushingly attentive of her boss. She was pushing forty—skinny, plain, opinionated and downright prickly.

She had been Mr Parnell Senior’s secretary before he died, Jonathon inheriting her, along with the family business. In Wilma’s words, their relationship had been rocky for a while, but in the end, she and Jonathon had forged an understanding.

Sophia was astounded at the way Wilma spoke to her boss at times, but there again, Jonathon gave as good as he got. Worse, most of the time. Sophia suspected that if she’d been his secretary she’d have quit within a week. In a weird way she gained a degree of secret satisfaction at Wilma’s liberated stance.

Wilma’s scowl vanished when she shifted her regard to Sophia. Now she smiled, mouthing, ‘You look beautiful.’ Sophia smiled back, feeling a warm gratitude swell her heart. Wilma had become a good friend over the past few weeks. If it hadn’t been for her sound common sense and pragmatic advice, Sophia suspected she might have cracked up entirely.

The lady standing next to Wilma had been similarly supportive. Maud had been the housekeeper in the Parnell household since the year dot. No one knew how old she was, but sixty-five would not have been far astray, though she was very sprightly for her age. And a hard worker.

She’d been cool to Sophia at first, till Sophia had made it clear that she had no intention of lounging around Parnell Hall like some parasite. From day one, she’d insisted on doing her own room and en-suite, as well as helping in any way she could.

Sophia had had plenty of practice with housework during her growing-up years and saw no reason to sit around like a useless lump, simply because she was pregnant. Maud had become her champion in this regard a week or two after her arrival when Jonathon expressed the opinion—quite dogmatically—that she shouldn’t be doing the cleaning in her ‘condition’.

‘The girl’s pregnant, not sick!’ Maud had argued with a forthrightness reminiscent of Wilma. ‘When I had my Jerry, I worked right up till they carted me off to the hospital. Provided the girl is healthy, then no harm can come to her. What do you expect her to do, sit around painting her nails all day?’

Sophia had been astounded when this last remark seemed to strike Jonathon dumb, though his eyes spoke volumes. He’d given Maud a savage look and marched off, clearly furious. Maud’s grin of secret triumph had sparked a curiosity within Sophia that she hadn’t as yet satisfied. Though she did suspect that the lady who had filled in her time painting her nails must have been Jonathon’s ex-wife. Who else could have inspired such a reaction?

Sophia found herself thinking of Jonathon’s ex-wife again as they stood, side by side, in front of the marriage celebrant. All she knew about Jonathon’s first marriage was that the divorce had become final only recently. Had his wife been beautiful? Had he loved her as much as she had loved Godfrey? If so, who had divorced whom, and why?

Wilma had implied once or twice that Jonathon had been deeply hurt by his divorce, suggesting that his wife had been at fault. Maybe she’d had an affair…

Sophia found it hard to imagine any woman being unfaithful to Jonathon. Who would dare?

She slid a surreptitious glance over at him, standing ramrod-straight, his shoulders as squared as his chiselled jaw-line. There wasn’t a weak line in either his face or his body. Sophia realised some women might be attracted to Jonathon’s strong silent type, but she knew she could only ever be drawn to a man who showed a degree of sensitivity and compassion.

Godfrey had been all sensitivity and compassion.

Sophia could still remember the day they’d first met, when she’d stumbled, weeping, into the old orchard behind the deserted farmhouse next door. She’d thrown herself down into the cool sweet grass under the spreading branches of an ancient apple tree and cried and cried till there were no tears left.

It was then that Godfrey’s gentle voice reached her ears.

‘What has happened, lass, to upset you this much? Sit up and tell your Uncle Godfrey all about it.’

Frightened at first, she had shot to her feet, about to run, but the sight of Godfrey sitting at his easel, looking so unlike an accoster of young ladies, eased her fears. His eyes were a gentle grey, his soft brown hair already receding, and he had a way of looking at one that warmed and gladdened the soul.

Jonathon accused his older brother of being a dreamer and a fool, but to her he’d been a saint and a saviour. She hadn’t fallen in love that first day when she’d poured out her heart to him. But by the time he’d given her sanctuary two years later he’d meant the world to her.

Her whole chest contracted, her eyes shutting momentarily as she struggled to gather herself. She shouldn’t have started thinking about Godfrey. Biting her bottom lip till the pain propelled her out of her reverie, Sophia still found that her fingers had begun twisting feverishly together.

Jonathon clamped both of his large hands over hers, holding them in a rock-like grip as the celebrant started speaking.

‘We’ve come together on this lovely September afternoon to celebrate the marriage of Jonathon and Sophia…’

He droned on, Sophia hating the sentimental words, hating the way Jonathon was holding her still, hating Jonathon. It should have been Godfrey standing beside her, not this cold, heartless individual. Godfrey, with his love of everything fine and gentle and romantic. He’d taught her so much, about music and poetry and literature and art, shown her a world she hadn’t known existed, a world he’d always loved but had been denied him most of his life.

Not that Sophia had known about Godfrey’s background prior to his falling ill. She hadn’t gleaned much about his past life even then, from either Godfrey or Jonathon or Mrs Parnell, who was so upset by her son’s advanced cancer that she was incoherent most of the time.

Wilma had finally filled in the missing pieces for her: how Henry Parnell’s first-born son had not taken after his father at all, inheriting instead his mother’s softer nature, as well as her appreciation of culture and gentility. As an adolescent, Godfrey had yearned to become first a dancer, then a painter, only to have both his ambitions scorned as effeminate by his domineering father.

Godfrey, as the elder son, was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps in the family property development business, but he’d hated the ruthless cut and thrust of the real estate world from the start. Not that he hadn’t tried to conform to his autocratic father’s wishes. He had, even to marrying the daughter of another wealthy property tycoon, though his failure to sire an heir had only added to his general sense of inadequacy.

When he’d deserted the family company and his unhappy marriage shortly after his father’s death of a heart attack, no one had been seriously surprised. Neither had anyone been surprised when Jonathon had slipped into his father’s shoes to make Parnell Property Developments more successful than ever. He was the spitting image of his father in looks, business acumen and ambition.

While the family business had benefited by Godfrey’s defection, his mother hadn’t. Ivy had become ill with worry over wondering where Godfrey was and what he was doing. His only communication had been a letter with a Sydney postmark which he’d sent shortly after he left, saying he was all right but that he had to live his own life and not to worry about him.

Jonathon had tried to trace his whereabouts but could never find him, not knowing that Godfrey had changed his surname to Jones and was living in a rundown farmhouse just outside the old mining town of Lithgow, over a hundred miles from Sydney.

Any happiness and relief Ivy had felt when Godfrey had finally contacted his family had been superseded by her devastation at his illness and subsequent death. Sophia took some comfort from the fact that in five months’ time she would be able to put Godfrey’s child in Ivy’s arms. Maybe then the woman would come really alive again.

An elbow jabbing into her ribs jolted Sophia back to reality.

‘Say “I will,”’ Jonathon hissed into her ear.

‘I…I w-will,’ Sophia stammered, to her mortification.

‘God,’ came the low mutter from beside her.

Jonathon bit out his ‘I will’ as if he were giving a guilty verdict for murder. When the celebrant pronounced them ‘as one’ in a flowery way, followed by a sickening smirk and a ‘you may kiss your bride’, Sophia darted Jonathon an anxious look.

She didn’t want him to kiss her but she couldn’t really see how they could avoid it. Everyone else knew their marriage was a sham, but the celebrant didn’t. Jonathon looked just as reluctant to oblige, but, seeing perhaps that he had no alternative, he took Sophia firmly by the shoulders, turned her his way and bent his head.

Sophia steeled herself for the cold imprint of his mouth on hers, so she was somewhat startled to find that the firm lips pressing down on hers were quite warm. Her eyelashes fluttered nervously, her mouth quivering tremulously beneath his. His mouth lifted, and for a second he stared down into her surprised face. Something glittered in that cold blue gaze.

Then he did something that really shocked her.

He kissed her again.